The Works of Fire
by ImAGiver
Summary: Peter/Neal smarm. An arsonist strikes June's house! With June in the hospital and more mansions burning, Peter and Neal are losing time and sanity to find him. Not to mention, the fires are ruining more that just Neal Caffrey's living quarters. R&R!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hey my first White Collar Fanfiction! I've been dying to write one since the beginning of time and I finally found some… Time. Tell me what you think.

Summary: An arsonist is on the loose and the place he strikes next is June's house. With June in the hospital and more mansions burning, it's a race against time to catch the elusive criminal. Not to mention, the fires are ruining more that just Neal Caffrey's living quarters. No Slash.

* * *

"I don't know why I can't just see her!" A desperate Neal tried reasoning with the tall nurse in blue scrubs who had a large hand pressed firmly against Caffrey's chest. However suave and sophisticated the conman had looked in the past life, he certainly looked worse for wear at that moment.

His hair was a mess, matted with sweat and dust from what looked to be some natural disaster. Striking blue eyes were bloodshot yet still wide with fright from the ordeal that had taken place just minutes ago. Hard as it was to believe, Neal's clothes were the least of his concerns at that moment, made obvious by their rumpled, dirty, and torn condition.

No, the only thing Neal would think about was the woman he had ridden over in the ambulance with. The elderly lady that had taken him in and trusted him when no one else would. Dear old June.

The sight of the lady in the fire had made Neal's blood run cold. The con artist could barely recall lifting her up with inhuman strength his lithe form would barely be able to muster, but he did remember the feeling of having her weight extricated from his arms as he emerged coughing from the burning building.

Firefighters had surrounded him, trying to wrestle oxygen masks over his head and insisting he sit down. Neal just kept on pleading with June to wake up, to show any signs of life, but nothing happened. He couldn't even remember asking if he could ride along in the ambulance, his mind too shell-shocked to process anything else, not even the roar of the sirens as they raced across the city to the hospital. The only thing Neal could do was watch the scene with bated breath as the paramedics tried countless times to bring the poor woman back to the land of the living.

There was still no pulse, and June looked as if she had turned a tinge of purple. "Pulmonary aspiration. We gotta start suction!" one of the medics yelled and they immediately set to work to wrench a tube connected to the suction unit down June's throat. Neal wanted badly to close his eyes at the horrific sight but it was impossible to turn away. Over and over, harder and harder, they tried to remove what was causing the blockage of her airway, making the stress in that small cramped space too much for the young man closed in the corner of the ambulance.

"June, please, wake up…" Neal whispered, more like begged, his eyebrows knit together with worry.

"We got a pulse!" The medic affirmed as if to answer all of Neal's prayers. "She's breathing! We got to get her hooked up though!" The doors to the ambulance opened and the EMTs hurriedly pushed the gurney onto the floor with Neal following suit into the lobby of the ER.

Which was where Neal was left behind to wait, yelling like a crazy person to help the only person in his life who had even shown him a shred of kindness since his "release."

"Sir, you need to be seen. You've just been through a stressful night and you need to take it easy." The bigger nurse insisted, trying to manhandle Caffrey into a chair.

Neal's blue eyes narrowed and his jaw set in place. "Get your hands off me! I need to see June."

"Sir, if you don't calm down and come with me, we will take drastic measures." The nurse replied, placing his hand in the pocket of his scrubs and pulling out a thin syringe filled with an ominous clear liquid. Neal eyed it with uncertainty but still look determined.

"Look, you either let me in there or I'll find another way," he said with such force that the nurse thought for a moment Neal was serious. Instead the man merely approached closer with the needle, intending to sedate the odd character refusing treatment.

"Neal!" A gruff voice cried out, causing Neal to tear his fierce gaze away from the nurse and turn in the direction of the agents walking quickly over to him, Elizabeth hot on his heels.

"Oh my God, sweetie, are you okay?" Elle said, putting two brisk hands on his cheeks to examine the damage.

Somehow, Neal found comfort in seeing the two of them there, but his mind still raced with anticipation to check up on June. He gently grasped Elle's hands in his own and gave her a sincere look. "I'm good. June… She-" His voice became thick with emotion when he saw the look of concern on Elle's face.

"Sir," the nurse said gruffly, causing Neal to flinch and Peter to look up. "Do you know this man?" The question was directed toward Peter who nodded.

"Yeah, he's my partner." Agent Burke answered, glancing at Neal with a hint of worry in his eyes. "He's just been through a lot. There's no need to drug him." Like Neal, he was put on edge by the syringe in the nurse's hand.

The nurse nodded, pocketing the meds. Then he looked at the clipboard in his other hand. "According to the report, he was just in a fire. We have to check him out for his medical well-being. He might have to stay for a 24-hour observation." The nurse told them and Neal turned to Peter with large, pleading eyes.

"Peter, I need to see if June's okay. I'll do anything else as long as I can just see her." Although Peter would have a tough time ignoring Neal's puppy-dog face, he knew such a negotiation was out of the question if June was only recently admitted.

"How about this? You get your tests done and then we'll see June afterwards." Peter tried to reason. Neal didn't like the idea, and if he were more level-headed, he might have noticed some flaws in the plan. However, in the end, he agreed and soon found himself sitting atop the examining table in nothing but his boxers.

His hair was damp from the shower the orderlies persisted he take from the dust, grime, and sweat imbedded in him from the fire, causing him to shiver rather uncontrollably. The door to the exam room opened, and Neal tensed in his vulnerable and tired state, yet refused to look up at person. When an unnaturally warm blanket, most likely a heated one, was thrown across his shoulder, Neal's eyes couldn't help searching out the bearer of such comfort.

Peter gave a half-hearted smile to the younger man, whose eyes were bloodshot and whose skin was now a deathly pale now that it was clean of the soot. God, Caffrey needed some rest.

After giving a muttered thanks, Neal had gone back to looking straight ahead with a look of tragic brooding playing across his features.

"How are you holding up?" the agent, who was never very good at small talk and things of that nature, asked.

Neal remained silent, not caring if Peter got mad, or uncomfortable. The conartist felt justified in giving the silent treatment for having to sit in the chilling exam room while June could have been dead in the next room over. Neal closed his eyes too the thought. That was way too much to think about

"They gave me an update on June," Peter offered hopefully.

At that, Neal's eyes lit up considerably. He sat up, a look of incredulity on his face. "You were trying to start small talk when you had that to talk about?"

Peter grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, I wasn't sure if you wanted to be floated into the news."

"Just toss me in, Peter. What did they say?"

"Well, she'll be just fine. They've got her hooked up on 100% oxygen for the next few days so we won't be able to see her until then. Other than that, she's okay." Neal felt an immense weight being lifted from his shoulders and he realized right then he could let the tiredness overtake him and let the adrenaline rush out of his veins.

He slumped his head heavily into his hands. "That's really good news." He mumbled, truly meaning it besides his overall lack of enthusiasm. If there was ever a time Neal needed a chance to pass out, he would pick now after a harrowing night of fire rescues, ambulance rides, and hospital waits.

No dice. The doctor chose that time to finally make an appearance when Neal could barely keep his eyes open enough to see what he looked like.

The doctor was middle-aged and of average height. He had an older look to him though, probably from working the stressful nightshift at the hospital, but overall, he had a nice demeanor. He clicked his pen and then checked off a few things on his clipboard.

"Hello, you must be Neal. And you are-?" He stared expectantly at the tall agent beside his patient.

"Agent Peter Burke, FBI." Peter introduced himself.

"I'm sorry, sir, but if you're not a family member, I'm going to have to ask you to leave until the exam is over." The doctor said to Peter's dismay. Neal, who was dozing off as they spoke, barely noticed that Peter was about to be kicked out of the room.

"Okay," Peter nodded and leant down to the bleary Neal's ear level. "Hey, Neal, hey, wake up. Okay, I'm just going to be right outside the room. Just right outside, so if you need anything, call me."

"Right, see you, Peter."

Reluctantly, Peter left the room. At that moment, Peter wished he were family if only to keep Neal awake during the examination. Stepping out of the room, he was met with a cup of coffee being nudged into his hands. He looked up and met his wife Elizabeth's worried expression.

"How's he doing?" She asked with all the concern of a mother.

"Fine, though he hasn't started the exam yet so nothing's set in stone." Peter replied as they walked over to the waiting room and set down.

Elle sipped her coffee tentatively, lost in her thoughts. "We should bring him home with us."

Peter, lost in his own thoughts, seemed to snap back in reality at the statement. "What? Elle…"

"I'm serious, Peter. Where else is he going to go?" Peter opened his mouth to reply, but Elizabeth cut him off again. "And do not say some crummy motel in the ghetto because I swear to God-"

"It wouldn't be so bad. He didn't mind it too much." Elle gave him the iciest of glares with her chilling blue eyes that made Peter noticeably shiver. "All right. I'm just sayin', I don't think he'll appreciate the sentiment as much as you'd think."

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**A/N:** There you are that's the first chapter. Please review. They're all I have left! Just kidding, hehehe, I just conned you. Just kidding, that was lame. But you know what's NOT lame? Mah forum. Fa sho, check it out here:

Okay, I can't post urls on fanfiction. Just search **"White Collar Files"** in your nearest Google search engine and it'll be the first thing that pops up.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: New chapter. Hope you like! Review, please! Love to hear from you!

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As it turned out, Peter knew exactly what he was talking about. Neal awoke in a strange bed in a strange room, wearing very strange clothes. Feeling completely disoriented, Neal shot up in bed to explore his surroundings. The room was small but clean and decorated in a bright, asymmetrical style, almost as if a professional had added her own personal touches.

It didn't take Neal long to figure out that he was at the Burkes, especially since the ill-fitted shirt he was wearing was actually a two-toned jersey for an FBI softball tournament. Neal's mind felt like it was full of cotton, and he tried to think back to how he could end up sleeping in Peter's guest room instead of his place at June's hou-

June. The fire. The hospital. A torrential flood of memories invaded Neal's mind and the chilly November morning became a lot less quiet and peaceful in Neal's perception. June was all right though, the young man recalled, vastly relieved by this news. She wouldn't be awake for awhile, and until then he had to figure out a plan to get his stuff back.

Not only did the fire put a damper on his living quarters, June's life, and the granddaughter's home away from home, but it also meant that all of his research on Kate was burned up as well. Neal just prayed the fire department had saved the Bordeaux before it was too late. If they didn't, all of this, the escape, the capture, and the agreement, would all be for nothing, and then Neal would be stuck for four years of loneliness.

He needed to find the bottle. Kate was trying to tell him so much more than goodbye, and Neal needed to know or else take that dismal message at face value.

Tossing the covers off of his legs, Neal got up and sneaked his way out of the room, hearing the voices of Peter and Elle talking in the kitchen. He wasted no time in grabbing a pair of sneakers on his feet, not caring about the style or the fact that they were much to big on him. After tying the laces, Neal crept down the stairs, eavesdropping to ensure Peter and Elle were too preoccupied to notice his leaving, knowing if they found him, he'd lose his chance.

"Are you sure you shouldn't check on Neal?" Elle asked, making the conartist's eyes widen and breath hitch.

"Nah, he usually never eats breakfast. Just let him sleep." Neal exhaled heavily and finally found it safe enough to escape out the front door. As quietly as possibly, the young man slipped outside and shut the door.

A colder-than-usual New York morning made Neal wish he could go back inside to grab a jacket, but he was already wasting too much time by standing on the stoop, shivering. The tracker on his anklet would alert somebody (namely Peter) soon that he was on the move.

Jogging to get his sore muscles working again, Neal started in the direction of June's house.

* * *

"I think I'm just going to see if he needs anything," Elle announced, unable to deny her anxiety of just checking on the alleged criminal. As she was about to make her way up the stairs, she heard Peter call out.

"Don't bother. Neal's already on the move."

Elle stopped and reentered the kitchen where a disgruntled Peter was already slipping into his suit jacket.

"What?" she said, hoping her ears were just deceiving her, only the look on her husband's face said otherwise.

"That was Jones. Caffrey's escaped somehow and now he's heading in the direction of June's house. I knew I should've handcuffed him to the headboard." While ranting about this, Peter had reached for his gun and began placing it in his holster.

"Now is that really necessary? He's probably just going to survey the damage." Elle tried to reason for Neal's sake.

"In any case, he's a felon on the loose." Elle was frowning in irritation. Peter sighed, wishing Neal hadn't used such effective charms on his own wife. "I'm not going to hurt him."

"I'm coming with you." Elle announced as she went to grab her jacket from the coat closet. Peter closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, knowing arguing with his wife would only lead to a bigger fight.

After the one worried wife and one huffy husband climbed into the front seats of Peter's sedan, the two were off in the direction of June's place. It was easy to find because a faint smoke signal still bloomed into the cold New York air overhead.

The car slowed at the burned remnants of the once grand mansion. A few things still remained from the treacherous fire, even some walls were left standing in wake, but none of the leftovers seemed good enough to be salvaged.

Turning the car around one the corners, Peter and Elle parked the cruiser against the sidewalk and exited to explore the surroundings for Neal. It didn't take long as the small form was quivering right in the center of the house right where his room used to be. Elle ran over at the sight of him, immediately draping the blanket in her hands across his shoulders.

"Oh, honey, what have you done?" Elle said as she crouched down beside the trembling young man, whose face was sorrowful and teary-eyed from the sight before him. The was a gross collection of broken glass in his hands, causing blood to seep out of his fingers and palms at a slow rate. Neal began shaking his head miserably.

"She's gone… She's… Goodbye." Neal said breathily, clouds of cold air being exhaled from his nearly blue lips.

"Come on, Neal, time to go," Peter said, looping a hand around Neal's bicep and pulling him up roughly. All the emotions in the world wouldn't excuse the fact that Neal had once again escaped to find more information on Kate. Something that Peter had deliberately placed in their agreement for Caffrey to work with him. Not only that, but Neal was being irrational, running in ungodly weather, shoving glass in his palms like an insane vagrant –Peter was intent on putting a stop to all of his drivel the only way he knew how: brute force.

In a daze of total anguish, Neal allowed himself to be pulled along, the blanket slipping off his shoulder in the process. Flabbergasted at her husband's behavior, Elle picked it up and watched incredulous as Peter shoved Neal into the back of the car. Furious, the brunette woman marched right up to Peter and slapped him openly on cheek.

"What was that?!" She yelled shrilly, not caring who saw or heard.

Peter almost had the gall to look shocked but then sobered with an equally angered expression. "If you keep babying him, he's never going to learn that escaping and running off is going to get him locked up for good."

"Right, and pushing him around when he's injured and defenseless is going to make a change?" Elle's cheeks started to turn pink with the chill in the air and the fury flooding through her.

"Yes! He has enough people falling for his charms, and treating him like he's made of glass. He's gotta learn that things aren't always easy and to just suck it up." Peter said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. With the death glare Elle was giving him, he would guess it wasn't so obvious.

"Are you saying I'm just falling for his charms? I don't find him all that charming right now, Peter. I find him downright sorry! And he doesn't need you making it worse for him. I mean look at him!" Peter tilted his head a bit to see behind his wife and into the window of the car.

Neal sat trembling, blood running freely from his open hands, and a look of haunted sorrow masking his handsome features. Peter had to admit the sight was heart-wrenching, but the cop inside of him wouldn't let him see much more. Caffrey was a con and the agent had every reason to be suspicious of him.

Peter looked blatantly into Elle's expression and simply lied like a professional, if only to be done with the maddening argument. "You're right, sweetie, I'm sorry."

She smiled, the stress in her face just melting away, and placed a hand on the cheek she had slapped him earlier on. "It's okay. Let's just get him back home."

After an awkward ride back to the house, mainly consisting of Elle trying to make a conversation with an unresponsive Neal staring impassively into the back of Peter's chair, they all arrived back at the house. Elle went straight away to cleaning the shards out of Neal's hands and wrapping them up into gauze.

Afterwards, Peter, under the careful supervision of Elle, led Neal upstairs into the guest room and stayed until Neal had lied down on the bed and turned his back away as if to signal he had surrendered. Peter and Elle exited the room, and Peter took out a key locked it from the outside. Elle looked incredulous.

"What was all that about you agreeing helping Neal was best for him!?" Elle asked, eyes imploring Peter for an answer.

"Look, we both have jobs that we can't be late for today. Letting Neal stroll around free, especially in this state, that would only make matters worse. By locking this door, I _am_ helping him."

Elle pursed her lips, struggling to weigh the options. She was in the process of planning one of Manhatten's elite couple's wedding, and to miss that would be like telling the apocalypse to wait until she was done watching TV. Not to mention, Peter did have a point. If Neal were to wander off, Neal would get caught and have to go to another trial, risking the chance of being thrown back in prison. With a sigh, she grudgingly conceded to the terms.

"On one condition," And at that phrase, Peter found it appropriate to cringe. "I want you to come back around lunch and make him some food. The poor guy looks like he hasn't eaten in days."

Peter gave an acquiescent, albeit reluctant, nod to the terms, hoping he would remember that when lunch came around. After a quick peck on the lips and another promise from Peter that he would indeed watch Neal for lunch, the two parted ways to their respective jobs.

Peter wasn't about to miss work. Not when he had an arson case to investigate.

* * *

**A/N:** Loved it? Hated it? (like that's possible, haha!) Please, please leave a review, and **don't just story alert** it. Got that, kid? Yeah, I'm lookin' at you with the weird hair, bub!


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Wow, so many reviews come with so many thanks! Seriously, they light up my life and my Christmas. I hope this extra-long chapter lights up yours!

XxxxXXXxxxX

Agents Jones and Lauren were piled to the gills with reports, profiles, and other documents about local arsonists in the New York area. Considering the crime rate in the city lately, they had their hands full. Their trusty head agent Peter sat at the far end of the conference table they had invaded with their files, searching a database of crimes and seeing if any of them matched the fire at June's house.

"I don't get why we're not able to find anything that matches the description at the crime scene." Lauren said, after pilfering another batch of files for any relatable evidence.

"Well yeah, who actually burns down a mansion without first looting the place?" Jones replied, massaging his temples to fend off an incoming headache.

"We're looking for another motive, then." Peter said, closing the laptop with no luck on an acceptable crime. "What have we got on that?"

Lauren took out a notepad they'd been scribbling ideas on since they got there that morning. "The arsonist could have been after June?"

"Well, we have to scratch that one out because the profiles on June haven't turned up any outrageous crimes since her 1960s protests on the war. And I'm sure they stopped caring about hippies a long time ago." Peter rebutted.

Lauren flipped over the next few pages, spouting off the prospective motives they had come up with, all of which were reasoned off with the flick of Peter's wrist. "We must be missing something." He leant forward on the table, thinking intensely. "The crime is too clean, that means a professional was in on it. There was nothing stolen, that means he's probably well enough off."

"I wonder what Neal thinks about this," Lauren suddenly said. Peter looked up at the name and then realization hit him like a ton of bricks.

"Quick, what time is it?" Peter asked hastily, snapping his fingers at Lauren.

"Uhh," The pretty female agent said, taking out her cell phone while casting a confused glance at Peter. "It's 4:25. What's wrong?"

"Shit." Peter cursed. He was supposed to have checked on Neal four hours ago. As if on cue, Peter's phone rang. Upon checking the caller ID, his heart sunk into his stomach at the sight of Elizabeth's name on the screen. With shaking hands and a dry mouth, he croaked out a "Hello?" into the speaker.

"Hey, Peter. Did you check on Neal already?" Elle asked cheerfully while seeming somewhat distracted. There were plenty of voices in the background, meaning she was probably still setting things up for the big wedding tomorrow.

"Uhh, of course, honey. I saw him at lunch time." Peter lied, hoping the quiver in his voice didn't give him away.

Apparently the hustle of whatever was going on around Elle helped her ignore the unsteadiness of Peter's tone. "That's good. Hey, I won't be home until about eight tonight. So just make sure you get home early enough to bring Neal some dinner, okay?"

"All right, sweetie. Okay. Yeah, I love you too. See you tonight." Peter said, shutting his phone and immediately bolting up from his chair. "I gotta go." He announced to his puzzled subordinates and left without another word of explanation.

Racing through the heavy New York traffic and angering more than a few cars and pedestrians, Peter had made it to his house in record time considering it was almost rush hour. Peter had been anxiously checking his clock the entire time and mumbling nonsensical phrases to himself. "5:10 PM" the clock read in judgmental red numbers that made Peter's throat constrict with guilt.

As he unlocked the door, he heard a faint knocking from overhead. "Peter? Elizabeth?" a muffled voice said through the barrier of a door. The voice sounded tired, obviously repeating the words for some time. "Peter? Elizabeth?"

Peter raced up the stairs and nearly flipped the door of its hinges to get it open. Once he had it opened, he found Neal sitting to the side of it, his appearance still haggard looking but his eyes somehow brighter at the sight of the tall agent who had finally opened the door.

Peter knelt down to Neal's eye-level and brushed aside the usually-styled hair that hung in curls in front of Neal's eyes.

"Oh my God, Neal, I got so caught up at work. I didn't mean to leave you in here so long. I'm sorry. What do you need? Can I make you some food? Would you like that? Do you want some water?" Peter was positively desperate to make the sadness in Neal's eyes go away. Starving poor Neal was not what he had in mind when he talked about "tough love."

Caffrey bowed his head in shame and mumbled something about needing to use the bathroom, which made Peter's chest tighten further with guilt. "Sure, come on, it's right over here."

Peter helped the young man up and walked him over to the bathroom where he closed the door to let him relieve himself. Afterwards, Peter led Neal down to the kitchen and prepared him what would have been his lunch but was more his dinner considering the hour at which it was served.

With nothing else to do, Peter awkwardly sat opposite as Neal tentatively picked at his sandwich in front of him.

"You don't like it?" Peter asked, ready to berate himself for his horrible cooking skills.

"No, it's not that." Neal said, his voice slightly hoarse from calling out for the last three hours. He sipped his water, the coolness feeling good on his throat, but refused to make eye contact with the older agent.

"What is it then?" Peter asked gently, wondering how he could have gone from the rigid bad cop from this morning to the caring gentle giant he was acting right now. "Neal." Peter said, causing the younger man to look up with a pained expression on his face. "Tell me."

"I just…" Neal seemed to struggle with the words. "I'm sorry. I really am… About everything."

Peter's mouth probably fell open at the statement, but he was more preoccupied with not falling over. How could Neal being saying that after what _he_ had just done to him? Neal wasn't the one who locked Peter up for most of the day with no water, food, or anyway to relieve himself. The agent shook his head but no words came out, so Neal decided to continue.

"I shouldn't have escaped this morning and I shouldn't have put myself in danger, worrying Elizabeth and putting your career at risk. You've both done a lot for me and I'm sorry took advantage of it. If you want to… You know, lock me in again. I won't mind. I deserve it. And I won't try to escape-"

Neal didn't get to finish because he flinched when Peter suddenly rose from his chair. Peter looked as if he was shaking when he abruptly pointed a finger at Caffrey. "You, shut up."

"Okay. Sorry." Neal said, all too quickly at the fierce emotion on Peter's face.

"No, that's not what I-" Peter looked so frustrated and shocked and angry -Neal had no clue what to think at that moment. "Stop saying you're sorry. Don't you realize that that wasn't supposed to happen? I would never do that to you, Neal. It was a mistake. You couldn't do anything that would make me torture you like that! It's me that should be saying I'm sorry."

And with that, Peter sat in the chair beside Neal and buried his face in his hand, trying hard to suppress the tears from escaping his eyes.

Neal was very confused by the whole tirade taking place. Just like Peter didn't know how to handle women crying, Neal didn't know how to handle men crying. Especially men like Peter, who Neal figured had all those emotions in check enough to suppress them. Neal awkwardly laid a bandaged hand on Peter's back, saying conventional things like, "It's all right." And "You're fine."

When one of Peter's sobs actually turned into a laugh, Neal immediately snatched his hand away, afraid Peter was suddenly going crazy.

Peter shook his head, a grin playing at his lips. "Look at me, Neal. You're the one that's been through a fire, hours of research being destroyed, and an entire day of none of the basic necessities, and you're the one comforting me. It's kind of ironic, isn't it?" Peter's wet eyes searched Neal's confused ones.

"I guess," the eloquent conartist answered in a very ineloquent way.

They sunk into an awkward but somehow peaceful silence as Neal finished up the rest of his lunch/dinner, and Peter tried to figure out how he could ever make up today to Neal.

Once Neal had finished the last of his chips, he scratched the itchy tenderness that had been bugging him all day at the bottom of his back. Peter noticed the action and annoyed expression on Caffrey's face and got up to grab the prescription cream the doctor had given him.

"Here, take your shirt off." Neal's blue eyes seemed to bug out in surprise at Peter's request.

"Uhh, I think I'm good, thanks." The con replied with some apprehension in his voice. He was becoming more and more perplexed at everything Peter did.

"Not like that, Casanova. The doctor said you had some first degree burns on the bottom of your back and you had to apply some ointment to it or else it could become infected."

"Right, that would explain the pain down there," Neal nodded, slowly removing his shirt and hissing when the shirt became unstuck from his back.

Peter assessed the damage. It wasn't too bad. The tender burn covered a good portion of Neal's lower back, but, aside from some minor pain, Neal would probably only need a few more treatments with the cream before it would be fully healed.

With a sharp intake of breath, Neal sat while Peter applied the ointment to his back, wincing whenever the agent pushed too hard on some parts of the burn. Once he was done, Neal pulled the dingy, overly large t-shirt back over his head. Peter frowned at the state of it.

Neal looked confused at the face Peter was giving him. "What?"

And then the agent said the words Neal would have _never _thought Peter was capable of saying. "C'mon, let's go shopping."

XxxxXXXxxxX

Peter was doing what he did best in big department stores: waiting. After the day Peter put Neal through, he thought it would be nice to get the guy something besides the lousy sandwich and stale chips.

Of course, Peter would just be paying for the stuff since choosing amongst the "hippest fashions" was never his forte. He had only seen Neal twice in the two hours he had been sitting there and last time the conman had only a few articles of clothing to put on hold for him at the front register.

The third time Neal had dropped by he was only carrying one dress shirt and a vest. This time Peter got up and approached Neal who had just about to hand the clothes off to the girl but took them back as Peter came closer.

"Too much?" the blue-eyed young man asked when Peter arrived, sending a sheepish look at the clothing in his hands.

Peter looked perplexed by Neal's assumption that he was buying too much when his purchases could barely clothe a man for a week. "What are you talking about? You've barely bought anything. How are you going to survive with one pair of slacks and two polos? And what's up with the polos? I've only ever seen you wear one once. You're always in suits and crap like that." Peter ranted, pointing accusatory fingers at the small stack of clothing.

For the second time that day, Neal was at a loss for words. The conman was good at being frugal, despite his frivolous nature for the finer things in life. He and Kate had survived many years on next to nothing so having Peter ordering him to purchase more was a little odd.

Peter continued to stare at Neal, hoping he would catch the drift. Neal obviously didn't so Peter sighed before lightly pushing the con in the direction of nice shirts. "Here, pick five."

Neal did, and Peter signaled with his head for Neal to put them on the counter.

"See, was that so hard?"

Neal smiled for the first time since the entire time he'd been staying with the Burkes. Peter wasn't sure if it was fake or not but it felt good to bring even a small amount of happiness to the con's currently bleak existence. Neal went back to shopping more freely while the agent went to browse the store himself, if only to keep a better eye on the conman.

On his perusal, Peter ran into a salesperson carrying a large stack of clothing in her hands. Because of her short stature, she didn't see Peter walking straight towards her and ended up harshly bumping into him.

"Oh God! I'm soo sorry, sir!" She cried as Peter was thrown slightly off balance and the clothes cascaded to the floor.

"It's all right. It's okay," Peter said with a slight laugh in his voice as he began picking up the clothing off the floor. One of the articles in her heap of garments that the agent came across was a charcoal hat, which Peter straightened to study more closely. It was in the same style of Neal's old hats with a pinched tip and a light band across the bottom. Peter flipped it around his fingers, a smirk on his lips as he reminisced on how cocky Neal became with the hat on his head. It gave the guy character, Peter couldn't deny that.

"Thank you so much, sir," The woman replied after all the articles were once again piled neatly into her arms. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Nah, it looks like you got your hands full, but thanks." She grinned and walked off into the backroom.

When Peter returned to the front register, he found Neal sitting in the chair he previously occupied, reading a worn travel magazine while he waited for Peter's arrival. Sneaking over inconspicuously, Peter slipped the hat onto the magazine, blocking Neal's ability to read the text further. Neal gave a genuine grin at the sight of the hat and flipped atop his head with a twirl of his fingers. He stared up at Peter with his dazzling smile and brightened blue eyes.

"Aw, Peter, ya big softie. I had no clue you were so sentimental." Neal said with his token sarcasm creeping back into his tone.

"Keep up with the pet names, and I might have a change of heart," Peter replied in exasperation, though secretly elated Neal was making a change for the better at the return of his head accessory. "C'mon, let's go pay for the loot."

"Please don't call it 'loot', Peter. It sounds weird." Neal commented as the two made their way to the counter.

"I'm paying for it, aren't I? I can call it whatever I want." Peter said as he removed his wallet. After the cashier rang up everything and Peter saw the total, he quickly replaced his card and took out another one. "Scratch that, let's just put this on the bureau's bill and mark it off as living expenses."

"But I thought I only got 700 and that looks like a lot more than the limit," Neal pointed out, eyeing the total with a satisfied glint in his eyes. Neal would admit, he felt a little guilty for buying so much, but the conman couldn't deny the mischievous pleasure he felt whenever he got Peter to sweat.

"Ugh, don't remind me. Here," he said, holding the card out for saleswoman, who had to literally wrestle the card out of Peter's firm clutch.

"I'm proud of you, man. You did a good thing." Neal said, giving Peter a friendly pat on the back.

Peter glared in reply as he took back his card and sulkily stuffed his wallet back in his pocket. He lifted the bag filled to the brim with clothing and handed it to Neal. "There. That should be enough to last you the rest of the year."

As they loaded the clothes and themselves back in the car, Neal started to say something and then stopped multiple times. With every time Peter caught this inner-debate, he tensed a little more until he couldn't hold in his opinion any longer.

"Would you just spit it out? I'm tired of watching the mute act." Peter said, a hint of frustration in his voice. Neal simply smirked at Peter's outburst and finally summoned the nerve to say what he wanted.

"Thank you," Neal finally said and Peter looked at him a bit quizzically. "You really didn't have to do that, but I'm grateful you did."

Peter wanted to say he _did_ have to do that after all the crap he put Neal through, but considering the mood in the car was lighter than usual; he didn't want to wreck it with his personal problems.

"And if there's something that I can do to pay you back, then don't hesitate-"Suddenly, Peter braked the car harshly, consequently choking Neal with his own seatbelt and causing more than a few cars to honk at his vehicle angrily. "Peter! What the hell?!" Neal coughed out, rubbing the part of his chest the strap had dug into.

The agent cursed, wishing he didn't have the bad habit of suddenly halting his car whenever bad news hit him. "Sorry, Neal, are you okay?"

"Yeah, though I think my trust in your driving skills was hurt the worst." Neal said, readjusting himself in the seat.

"Then look, I need you to understand something," Peter said, turning to look Neal squarely in the eyes. Neal stopped his fidgeting at Peter's unexpectedly serious attitude. "You don't owe me anything except your help with this case. All of this was a gift and not meant to be repaid in any other way, shape, or form. You got that?"

Neal nodded, more than a little confused by Peter's flare-up but deciding it was best to just let the matter drop or risk catapulting through the window. The car started moving again, much to the delight of the cars that had started collecting behind the agent's sedan, and the two men sunk into a slightly tense silence.

"So…" Neal started, if only to make the ride less uncomfortable. "What case are you talking about?"

Peter grimaced, forgetting he wasn't supposed to mention anything until Neal was better. And that wouldn't be for about another week. "It's nothing. I'll tell you when you're feeling a bit better." Peter said, shrugging off the matter.

Neal's curiosity was piqued now and had every intention of figuring out what Peter was saying. "Seriously, Peter? I'm not going to have a breakdown from hearing the details of a white-collar crime."

"Could've fooled me this morning," Peter mumbled in earshot of Neal, who frowned at the statement. Peter caught Neal's displeasure and sighed regretfully. "I'm sorry, Neal. That was out of line. I just don't want you to get hurt more than you already have."

"And I'm telling you that I can handle it," Neal said slowly, trying hard to emphasize his words. "What is it? Is it an art thief? A bond forgery? C'mon, Peter, what are we dealing with?"

"It's the arson case at June's house. The FBI had already ordered a hefty investigation." Peter blurted out like a dam releasing a flood of water after one too many cracks were placed in it. Neal quickly became silent at the revelation, his eyes wide with disbelief.

"You mean… It wasn't an accident?" Neal asked, struggling to wrap his mind around the prospect.

"No, not according to our evidence," Peter admitted, glancing to his side at the somber Caffrey. He was beginning to get that guilty feeling again. God, just when he thought things were going good, his stupid mouth had to go and screw things up. "Neal, it's not your fault. So don't go blaming yourself. You didn't start the fire."

They had pulled into the driveway of the Burke household and Neal looked ready to punch something with all of the emotions playing on his downturned countenance. "Well, I might as well have." And with that, he exited the car and rushed into the house as Elle was standing in the open doorway ready to greet them.

Peter looked after the young man and then into the incensed face of his wife, who looked like she had a billion questions on her frowning lips. Peter mumbled to himself. "Great, now I'm really in trouble…"

XxxxXXXxxxX

**A/N:** Yes, yes, I come up with the crappiest cliffhangers. But please stay tuned. More will come faster if I get the encouragement. i.e. REVIEW!

**ALSO:** I'd like to shamelessly plug my friend Shoen's White Collar story called Coming Back Home. I've been helping her translate it and stuff, so if you want to take a look. Feel free.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Sorry for the long wait. With work, school, etc. there hasn't been much room for fan fiction. Hopefully that will change though.

Disclaimer: This story never happened…

The Works of Fire- Chapter 4

XxxxXXXxxxX

"Neal, we need to talk…" Peter said, knocking on the door with great reluctance. No sounds came out of the room; the only thing to be heard was the sigh Peter exhaled from having to deal with the con's antics again. "C'mon, Neal, open up."

Again, nothing. Peter was immediately suspicious. Even if Neal was ignoring him he would have something to say. Neal always had something to say or quip or gripe at him about. Cautiously, Peter turned the handle and entered the room.

Peter was immediately on the defensive when he saw Neal precariously perched on the windowsill of their two story house, the con's shoulders slumped with dejection. Neal turned, and Peter saw the way the kid's usually bright eyes looked hollow and glazed.

"Neal…" Peter breathed, hoping the look in Neal's eyes wasn't any consolation of what was going on in his mind. If that was the case, Peter knew he had to be firm or risk Neal's insanity rearing its ugly head. "Get down from there now."

"I want to see her, Peter. I have to make sure she's okay." Neal's voice sounded rougher than usual, as if he was on the verge of crying.

"Neal, just get inside and we'll talk about-"

"Talk?!" Neal spat at him venomously. "Is that what we're going to do? And just what is that going to accomplish? Huh?"

Peter tried to interject but once Neal's tirade had started, his voice only got louder and more vehement. With a line of worry deepening between his eyebrows, the FBI agent just hoped Neal's tantrum wouldn't end in the kid falling forward off the side of the house.

"The guy is still out there, Peter! He's probably planning on burning down more houses, ruining more families, or worse! Maybe he'll actually kill someone this time. I mean, June…"

The word cracked his voice and Peter rushed forward when the weight on Neal's shoulders overtook him and the con was sent careening forward. In the knick of time, Peter wrapped a steady arm around Neal's waist, hoisting him back in the warm conditioning of the bedroom.

Neal looked shocked he was on the bed or that he had even been on the sill in the first place. Peter just looked down at him with a flabbergasted expression, not believing he had almost lost Neal over something so trifling. A hand rubbed over Peter's face in attempt to sober him from the events, trying to erase thoughts of Neal's body being splattered across the sidewalk below.

Peter just made his way to the window and latched it in place with unneeded firmness. When he turned, he found Neal sitting with his face in his hands, obviously wanting nothing more than to be left alone with his thoughts. Too bad, Peter thought. It was Neal's meditation on June that had put him in that predicament in the first place and Peter wasn't about to risk leaving the kid by himself for awhile.

"What were you thinking?!" The agent couldn't help himself. There were a lot of things that Peter didn't understand about Neal: his suits, his hat, his blatant immaturity in the face of authority. But never did Peter think the con was suicidal.

"I wasn't going to fall," Neal said finally after an uncomfortable silence where Peter just stared at Neal with pure incredulity. To Peter, Neal sounded like a proud brat, and that seriously rubbed the agent the wrong way.

"Right, clearly you had it under control. What were you going to do when you did escape from here, Neal? What were you going to do once you saw June? By the way, I'm pretty sure her hospital is two miles out of this radius. What were you going to do once you were in prison again?"

Obviously, these were all the wrong questions to ask as Neal's face seemed to crumble with the added weight of all of Peter's insults being flung at him. "I don't know." Neal said in a voice, so vulnerable and so unlike the kid that seemed to get everything to fit into his little cons.

A tear leaked out of Neal's eyes and he hurriedly wiped it away with a swipe of his fingers. He wasn't going to cry in front of Peter. Neal tried to never show true emotions around the guy. Peter was, above all, an FBI agent and that was all the reason in the world for Neal to guard himself around the man.

What Neal was not expecting was the hand Peter gently placed on his hot cheek or the way the man kneeled down to his eye level, staring into his eyes with great concern. When Neal tried to turn away, the hand kept his face firmly in place. It was a losing battle and Neal furrowed his brow in indignation, a few more tears spilling out of the corners of his eyes.

"I don't want her to die, Peter." Neal said roughly. "She's one of the only people in this world that has ever given me a chance."

"I know. And she's not going to die," Peter replied with such firmness Neal had half the mind to believe him.

"You don't know that." Neal said, trying to lower his head to his lap but, again, the hand was unyielding.

Peter's eyes were searing into his own. "She's not going to die, kid, because she has you. You've got more life in you to keep us all going." The last part was said with a little laugh, as if Peter were reminiscing on a fond memory.

Neal's eyes filled with a sliver of hope and his eyes turned up to meet Peter's. "Can-can I see her?"

"Let's go."

XxxxXXXxxxX

When Peter and Neal arrived at the hospital at around midnight, Peter was silently praying that visiting hours would be over and the two of them could just go home and get some rest. Neal looked worn out after the day he had, his hair was tousled and he had dark rings around his eyes, but Peter knew the kid was too stubborn to leave now.

As it turned out, this was one of those hospitals that didn't have constricted visiting hours. If they had, Peter was sure Neal would have him pull the "FBI card" to get them in, but thankfully, it didn't come to that. With June's information, the pair entered the elevators and ascended up to the fifth floor ICU.

As the made their way past the nurses' station, the smell of antiseptic filled their nostrils and Neal began to feel nauseous. He tried to hide it but he was so tired that he caught Peter's worried glance directed to him. They stopped in front of June's door and Peter guided him in with a hand on the small of his back.

The room was dimly lit from the light overhead. A heart monitor beeped steadily and there were numerous tubes being run in and out of the person on the bed. June rested with eerie stillness on the inclined mattress. She looked older than usual and her face lacked all the elegance in the shadows of the room.

The sight of the poor woman actually hurt Neal physically to look at. He felt like his ears were ringing and that he might fall over if Peter hadn't helped him to sit in the chair beside her bed. With a look of dread upon his face, Neal touched an apprehensive hand to her face. His fingers detracted at how cold she felt and his face paled further.

"Do they have any more blankets?" Neal's voice sounded small and scared, but instead of questioning him, Peter turned to the nearest cabinet and searched it for linens. Upon retrieving pink, cotton one, he handed it to Neal who tenderly draped it over June's prone form. Once he was done, he grabbed June's chilled hand, his eyes never leaving her face for a moment.

There was a tense silence. Neal was obviously thinking some dark thoughts the way his face was set with such scary fortitude. Peter dreaded the next words out of Neal's mouth because nothing good could come out of a look like that.

"I want to be on the case," Neal said, his tone the epitome of serious.

"I'm sorry, Neal, you can't." Peter broke it to the kid as gently as he could, really he did.

Instantly, Neal was on his feet and in Peter's face, surprising the agent to see the pure adrenaline coursing through Neal's taut features. The con was breathing hard and when he finally spoke, there was venom in his voice. "Why the hell not?"

"Because you're not well, Neal. You don't get to be on a case when you're going to be a risk for the department and a hazard to yourself." Peter said frankly. "I'm sorry." Neal turned back to June, his blue eyes shining with sadness. Peter half-believed the kid was about to give up the matter but he would only be so lucky…

"Peter, if Elizabeth was in that bed, you would damn well do anything to catch the guy who did it. I don't want to be on the case just to settle a score, I need to be." Neal said, pinning Peter with a look that said he meant business.

There wasn't even an argument after that point. Once Neal put it into Peter's perspective (and God help whoever tried to mess with his wife), the agent had no choice but to concede with his terms.

"All right, you're on the case. But you-" Peter never had a chance to finish his preventative reprimands when his phone rang. When he saw that it was from Lauren, he quickly pressed the phone to his ear. "Agent Burke. Talk to me."

His look changed from stoic to alarm once Cruz told him the news on the other line. Peter's eyes landed on Neal who was watching him with careful scrutiny and not liking the look Peter was giving in the least. "Okay, we'll be there in 10 minutes."

When he hung up the phone, Neal immediately pounced on the opportunity to question the man. "What happened, Peter?"

Peter finally looked him in the eye, a stunned look in his expression. "There was another one. A fire. Down on Van Buren and 6th."

And then the nightmare started all over again.

XxxxXXXxxxX

A/N: Give me some optimism. Review!


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